


Flashlight

by exyjunkies



Category: All For the Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Breakfast in Bed, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, also i need to write something other than andreil, but who cares, had to write this plot bunny out of my system before i slept, i have no shame for how this happened, i was humming the song and then it happened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-06-10 11:18:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6954313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exyjunkies/pseuds/exyjunkies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neil deals with Andrew at night, and Andrew deals with Neil in the morning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flashlight

**Author's Note:**

> Obviously inspired by Jessie J's "Flashlight". Had to write this plot bunny before it got away from me.

** Getting me, getting me through the night **

No matter how long he gets to live, Andrew will never, ever be able to admit to anyone that he _still_ gets nightmares.

It was different each time, but Andrew wasn’t stupid; he knew they were all about the same experiences. He sees vivid re-imaginations of Tilda giving him up for adoption; of his foster father’s violent abuse; of Drake having his way with him. He sees versions of Aaron getting beat up by Tilda, exaggerated variants of the scars on his body. Every nightmare was an additional reason to the growing list that explained why he could never trust himself around Neil, why the “yes or no?” inquisition remained a vital part of their relationship. Neil can keep repeating the entire “I am able to say no if I need to” mantra like it was the damn gospel, but Andrew will never fully believe in himself enough to trust that.

He was so sure that he already had it down to a science, and that it was all just a matter of mind redirection; the more he thought of positive things, of ideas that he associated with light, the more his being wouldn’t be swallowed up by darkness. As much as wishful thinking goes, however, stability in the morning didn’t guarantee that Andrew wouldn’t be consumed by the villains of his past at night, who never seemed to get tired of running after him.

On the nights that they do catch up to him, Neil is there to make sure Andrew is strong enough to outrun them.

He is there to take note of the time on their digital clock; Andrew would want to know the time of his rude awakening. He is there to know better than to touch Andrew, no matter how much he was aching to bring him back. He is there to get out of bed and out of the room seconds before Andrew could lay a finger on him — the last time Andrew discovered a bruise he didn’t willingly put on Neil, he couldn’t bear to look at Neil for three days. He is there to grab Andrew’s emergency ice cream from the freezer (rocky road was always the best, but a good alternative was cookies & cream), dump as much of it as possible into his favorite mug (“the one with the chipped handle”), and, after the worst of the episode passes, have it ready by the nightstand.

When Andrew is back, when Andrew can finally _see_ , he breathes for a bit before sitting up and regaining full control of himself again. It was always colder afterwards, and he gathered the blankets as close to his body as possible.

“Four minutes.”

Neil is standing by the door, arms crossed, wearing a sweater over the shirt of Andrew’s he was wearing. It was the shortest episode Andrew’s ever had. Andrew will never say it, but he was grateful to Neil for taking note of the time; it was the only indication that he was dealing with it better. Sometimes, it lasted as long as fifteen minutes, sometimes, Neil would wait outside for as long as an hour, but he never chose to sleep on the couch, which was what Andrew had suggested. He always, _always_ came back to bed with Andrew.

Once again, Neil’s eyes were full of _that thing_ Andrew never stopped hating about him; warmth to match the ever-permanent coldness in his own eyes, affection that was just so _Neil Josten_ that it will definitely sour Andrew’s mood for hours. _That look_ was going to earn Neil a double-digit addition to his percentage, but Andrew decided to wait until morning to inform him of this. Besides, it wasn’t a face Andrew couldn’t spare some tolerance for.

Instead, he makes a face as he reaches for the mug and mutters, sounding a little disappointed, “You forgot my spoon.”

“That’s because I decided to get one for myself,” Neil cheekily produces two spoons from wherever he was hiding them and closes the door. “You don’t mind, do you?”

“Josten, you know I don’t share,” Andrew grumbles, but he lets Neil have the bigger chocolate parts anyway. Neil tries to insist that the ice cream was for Andrew and _not_ for him _,_ but fails to get his point across. They stay up for the better part of the next hour, with Andrew holding the mug and feeding Neil bites with his own spoon. The second spoon is ignored, and falls from the bed as Andrew rolls over to kiss the ice cream from Neil’s lips.

* * *

 

** I can’t lie, it’s a sweet life **

Neil’s eyes adjusts to the pieces of the morning that was seeping through the curtains, blinking uncertainly. It takes quite some time for his mind to process that he _had_ to wake up already, and he quietly groaned. If anyone asks, he _did_  tried to stay awake long enough to check if Andrew would fall asleep alright, but Neil knew from the start that he’d fail. Night practice with Kevin was deathly tiring, but Neil's body already developed a tolerance for practice fatigue. One thing never seems to change, though: sleep was the one vice he wouldn’t be able to give up, and when he slept, he slept deeper than anybody on the team.

Before he could completely roll over to look at Andrew, the man is already on top of him, careful to not actually weigh Neil down. Neil laughed softly.

“Andr—” Neil’s question is cut off by Andrew’s lips on his, gentle yet firm. Neil smiled against the kiss before returning it. _Boy, was that going to earn me a 15 percent hate increase_ , Neil thought sarcastically.

Instead, Andrew doesn't seem to mind in the slightest. His features are softened by sleep, and for a few seconds, Neil sees a different version of Andrew; the version that was only ever allowed out when it was fully certain that it was safe. Vulnerability was never Andrew’s strong suit, and in the years that Neil has known him, he never once complained, but Neil finds Andrew beautiful in times like this. He’s only ever seen this Andrew a few times before, and he’s happy to see it now.

“What are you smiling about, idiot,” Andrew mumbles, lacking the tone for it to be a question or for it to be hostile. Instead, it was said like a secret, like Andrew didn’t want anybody else to hear him.

“Nothing,” Neil playfully whispers back, referencing a past conversation he was sure Andrew had not forgotten.

Andrew scowls slightly. “Smartass.”

“You like it,” Neil cleverly shoots back. Then, pressing his forehead up to Andrew’s, he adds in a low voice, “And this smart mouth’s _all yours_ , Minyard.”

Andrew, in his annoyance, rolls his eyes, and makes his way off the bed. He mutters something along the lines of, “Too early in the fucking morning,” as he walks out of the bedroom. Neil silently takes that as a victory, and stretches out into the bed. It is a Friday morning, and Kevin would be expecting him to jog at this hour. Later that day, they would have a session at the gym before practice on the court. Neil looks at the digital clock by the nightstand, which expressed 6:48 in neon green. He plops his head back down on the pillow in relief; he wasn’t sure if he could handle Kevin telling him off again for “abandoning his commitment to Exy”. Kevin could be a handful on some days, but he means well most of the time.

Andrew goes back into the bedroom with a breakfast tray. Neil sits up, stunned, pinching his arm under the covers to see if this wasn’t a dream.

Nope, he _definitely_ woke up to a first-class Minyard morning treatment, the only way Andrew knew how.

Neil will never be able to get over the fact that Andrew knew how to cook; it was such a non-Andrew skill, the homey domesticity of it a far cry from the negative personality Neil was used to. Andrew would never agree to hosting team dinners, so instead, Neil had decided to sneak out some of his cooking to make the rest of the Foxes believe him. It still amuses him whenever Andrew would taste something he was cooking and frown like his own soup insulted him.

As Andrew puts the breakfast tray in front of him, complete with a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon, biscuits, a fruit platter, and a mug of coffee, Neil smiles up at him gratefully. “Tha—”

“Nope. I think I’ve had enough out of your smart mouth for this morning,” Andrew cuts him off. Neil reads the understanding in his eyes anyway.  

Neil shakes his head in amusement, and moves over to his side of the bed so that Andrew could lie back down with him. As Neil ate breakfast, Andrew turned on the television and started to channel-surf. Neil knew he was going to do this for another thirty minutes before _finally_ deciding on something to watch.

Between bites of scrambled egg, Neil asks curiously, “What percent am I up to now?”

“Too high for numbers,” Andrew answers.

Neil swears that for a split second, he sees a flash of fondness break through Andrew’s default bored look.


End file.
